I mentioned that I have collaborated with two friends to publish an anthology of poetry,stories and other writings. We came together to form our small group from a creative writing class; we called ourselves The Moving Dragons and we started a blog with the idea of sharing not only our own work, but that of other people too (get in touch if you have something you’d like to share, with links and credits etc of course!)
From our blog, came the idea of an anthology – and we’re so delighted and thrilled to have made that idea a reality!
From the introduction:
For a couple of years, the three of us, Lois, John and Richard, have successfully shared our thoughts with the world through our blog; The Moving Dragons Write is a medley of stories, poems and articles, a whole kaleidoscope of different writing. Our name came from the symbol of the county where we live, the Somerset dragon, and the well-known words ‘the moving finger having writ…’
Here are some samples:
… a poem from me –
The Thermos Flask
Have you ever wondered,
You who abandoned your flask on a rock
Near Dunseverick Castle,
Have you ever thought about your flask?
Do you remember the times you used it, the picnics, the walks,
Or taking it to work?
Have you still the cup?
Because when we found it, standing all alone,
A sentinel waiting to be recalled,
It had no cup.
© Lois Elsden 2017
… the opening to a short story from Richard –
Saying Goodbye to Ouray
I first saw Łyżka when he was benching on Main Street, just along from the Post Office. Every store has a bench out on the sidewalk. It’s mostly oldsters and young Moms, with children in strollers, who sit there gossiping, so it was kinda unusual to see a black t-shirt. I checked him out with a passing glance and moved on, casually scored him as us gals do.
He came into the bar late the next evening and asked me for a table for one, upstairs in the restaurant. He was good-looking but in an understated sorta way. I liked the way he looked me in the eye when he talked to me. He said his name was Whistler, or something like that anyways. He had the most beautiful, liquid brown eyes. I think I was attracted to him from the get-go.
I’m from Ridgway, a few miles up valley. I left there because it was so stuck in the past. Yeah, sure, I have been to the other towns around the area. I quite like Silverton and Teluride, probably because they aren’t too big. I once went down valley to Durango but there were too many people, too many cars, and too many buildings there for a small-town girl like me on my own. I feel I know most of the eight hundred or so folks in Ouray, to nod and say ‘Hi’ to anyways.
The winter season brings outdoor types in their SUVs for the skiing and ice climbing while summer brings the hog riders along the San Juan Skyway before noising up and down Main Street. They clog the bars and generally seem to say, ‘look at me with my shiny Harley, ain’t I good-looking with my beard, shades, bandana and dangerous black t-shirt?’ I don’t like ‘em ‘cos they hassle me at work. I have figured out how to deal with them but there is a new crop every year that I have to get trained.
I’m Mary-Lou Ellis but everyone calls me Dish at work. I got asked a heap of times if I was the dish of the day so it was easier to give in and answer to the name. It’s printed on the front of my t-shirt now – that’s where most of the guys look first anyway.
I’ve been with my boyfriend, Rick, for a coupla years now. We’re saving hard to get enough dollars together to get married. I work all the hours I can get in the tourist seasons while Rick gets some good tips from his clients when he takes them out in the San Juan Mountains, either in his jeep or hiking, in the summer. He teaches ice climbing down at the Ice Park during the winter. With my long hours and him being away so much, we don’t see as much of each other as we would like
© Richard Kefford 2017
… a poem from John –
Why not move across, old chap,
Then I can pass and onward go.
It’s best to drive upon the left
It doesn’t impede the traffic flow.
You surely can’t wish to annoy
By fixation on a different place,
A missing chord, a family tiff,
A soccer match or motor race?
Can it be that mind so firmly set
On some great philosophic plane,
Means I must trail in your wake
With all behind me in your train?
What ultra careless arrogance
Prompts you to such calumny.
What super oblivious ego trip
Strangles half the motorway.
I can but muse, and dreaming see
Wild fancies. Could I but instruct
That mid-lane doddlers cease to be
And never ever again obstruct.
I could fly close upon your tail,
Watching cross-hairs drawing in.
Then rake you with a hail of lead
And see your deadly flaming spin.
Or joyfully, abaft the beam, set
Rolling fire from each gun deck;
Gloating as iron and grape hit home
To render you a splintered wreck.
© John J.C. Watts 2017
Here is a link to where you can get a copy of our anthology: